Still Small Voice
by Furfural
Summary: The aftermath of the first task in the Tri-Wizard tournament leaves Harry utterly lost. A chance discovery gives him the chance to forge a path that the fates had not intended for him. Harry Potter will tread in the footsteps of the Greats-Gellert Grindelwald, Albus Dumbledore, and Tom Riddle, and eclipse them all. He has no other choice.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** [insert standard, trite disclaimer here along with a dash of wit]

* * *

 **Prologue**

 _"Hermione, I love you. I think I have since the time you solved Snape's puzzle in first year. You've been with me through everything I've suffered, you've sat with me through my brooding, and you've looked out for my safety, all without asking a thing of me._

 _I can't think of a moment when I haven't felt safe and comfortable with you. Even this year, you were the only one to believe that I didn't put my name in the goblet. I can't tell you how much this means to me, but I guess I'm trying now. When—when I faced that dragon out there, you were the one who hugged me, told me to come back, and gave me the courage to do that. You are the only reason I'm alive right now, Hermione. This isn't the first time that I've done something for or because of you._

 _That basilisk in second year? It hurt you, tore you away from me, and that was why I went down there. Not for Ron's sister, though that was a part of it. In third year, when we rode on Buckbeak, that was the happiest I've ever been and it's fueled my Patronus since. Nothing else even comes close._

 _For a long time, I thought that telling you would change our current relationship. I was so scared of losing your friendship, Hermione, that I couldn't tell you. The dragon today changed everything._

 _When I was sure that I would die, my only thoughts were of you, and that made me realize one thing—before I die in this tournament, I want to tell you how I honestly feel._

 _Hermione, I am utterly and madly in love with you. Would you go to Hogsmeade this weekend with me, and the next, and possibly for the rest of our lives?"_

 _A beat. "I'm not sure what to say to that, Harry. This certainly isn't what I was expecting."_

 _A pause. "I think this is the most I've ever heard you say at once."_

 _"Please, say yes Hermione."_

 _"I-I'm sorry; I can't."_

 _Despair._

 _Harry couldn't even see Hermione flee through the portrait door as his world swam in front of his eyes. Everything else seemed to escape him, including the muttering of the other people in the common room. He slowly sank to his knees, and remained there, near catatonic from the disastrous result of his confession. Nothing made sense any more._


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer** : [You and I both know what goes here]

* * *

 **Chapter 1- Emma Rain**

 **[Nov. 24, 1995 Tuesday]**

 _ **"Very daring!" Bagman was yelling, and Harry heard the Chinese Fireball emit a horrible, roaring shriek, while the crowd drew its collective breath. "That's some nerve he's showing - and - yes, he's got the egg!"**_

 _ **Applause shattered the wintery air like breaking glass; Krum had finished - it would be Harry's turn any moment. (Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire - J. K. Rowling)**_

When the shriek of the whistle reached his ears, indicating that it was Harry's turn to leave the tent, he started. It was time. Everything he had done up until this moment would either see him victorious, or a burnt husk. With great trepidation, he stood and opened the flaps of the tent.

His heart thundered as he walked the path to the enclosure, where his trial awaited. Last minute revisions of the spell and analysis of his strategy occupied his mind more than his surroundings and in no time at all, he found himself at his destination.

Suddenly, the world seemed to open up to his eyes, and a sea of faces occupying the stands greeted him, along with his obstacle, the Horntail. Its position, along with his was reminiscent of the gladiator battles of old—the comparison wasn't too far off; this was a blood sport after all.

Slitted, yellow eyes seemed to pin him in place as a great ebony head moved minutely in response to the slightest twitch of his fingers. As he made to move his wand arm upwards, the Horntail let out a huff of smoke and bared gleaming rows of ivory capable of tearing bicorns to shreds—a warning.

Harry didn't let that distract him and finished the motion, following it with a bellow.

"ACCIO FIREBOLT!"

In the moments that preceded Harry confirming that his magic took hold, he broke the deadlock with the malevolent gaze of the great drake and looked below it. A glint of gold behind the curled length of ebony that gave this species its name gave Harry something to focus on to prevent him from doubting the results of his summons—his feelings could affect the success of his spell.

Before long, he heard something whistling through the air behind him, heading in his general direction. His Firebolt was hurtling through the air at a speed he was familiar with, when he was in the middle of a dive for the Snitch. It decelerated as it approached him, and eventually made one lazy circle around him before remaining still by his side.

He mounted it, eyes connecting with those on the threat on the other side of the enclosure for a moment, and then shot off into the air.

Being in the air buoyed Harry's spirits as well as his hopes for the outcome of this task. Everything else seemed to fade away into the clear blue of the sky as besides a few puffs of milky vapor, he was its sole occupant.

For a while, he lost himself in the feeling of freedom flying granted him; here was a place to relax, to get away from the constant stares, adulation he didn't feel he deserved, and the whispers, good and bad. Here, he felt the most in control he had ever felt in his entire life.

Harry quickly shook his head—now wasn't the time to get caught up in his thoughts. The dragon hadn't exactly been idle while Harry had lazily floated in the air.

It was agitated—small plumes of flame intermittently jetted out of its nose, and its muscles were coiled in anticipation, but Harry was as ready as he would ever be.

He took a deep breath and dove.

Biting wind pasted his glasses to his face as he rushed to a quickly growing black mass, and he saw it rear its head back in preparation. As soon as he saw the first spark of flame in its gaping maw, he pulled with all of his might on his broom and quickly flew behind the dragon.

He wasn't naive enough to believe it would turn, not for him. Quickly, he banked left until he faced its general direction and then zipped closer to the dragon, at a speed where it couldn't immolate him. A few meters away from its looming visage, he made to circle around the great beast.

A quick swipe of its wing greeted him. He ducked under it, only to find a spiked wall of flesh rushing towards his face. Harry had scant milliseconds to react, and before he knew it, he had performed a roll and was hanging upside down on his broom.

He barely regained enough focus to right himself and finish the circuit before rising back up in the air again. His breath was coming out in small pants, and his face was flushed with both heat from the proximity to the dragon and his exertions.

One hand, knuckles regaining some color from the white of gripping the shaft of his broom so tightly, shakily came up to wipe his brow of the accumulated sweat.

Another deep breath, another moment to collect himself as he turned to face the dragon, and he rocketed towards it again.

The Horntail was absolutely livid. With its wings fully unfurled, long, barbed tail lashing against the ground, and massive neck straining against its collar, the nesting mother dragon cut a figure that would have rebuffed even the most intrepid adventurer, but Harry was determined to succeed. Hermione didn't spend all of her time helping him for nothing.

As Harry rapidly closed in on the Horntail, it let loose an ear-splitting roar, full of its fury, and once more, heaved at its bindings. This time, a loud crack sounded throughout the arena, as the stone keeping the chain anchored shifted a little.

Dumbledore jerking up in alarm, with most of the judges following suit, the dragon handlers palming their wands, and the crowd quickly getting ready to evacuate was all lost on Harry as he only had eyes for his target—the golden egg.

With its previous lunge forward, the dragon wasn't in position to immolate him, and instead whipped its head around to snap its jaws at him as Harry flew under the dragon's mass to the eggs below it.

Harry quickly reached out with one arm and snagged what looked, at first glance, to be an enlarged snitch—it was warm to the touch. He knew the next part was going to be tricky and was thankful for his smaller than average frame. It wasn't often that he was grateful to the Dursleys, but without them, his exit strategy would be more difficult to execute than it was already going to be.

With one hand tightly gripping his broom and the other holding the egg under his armpit, Harry zipped between the dragon's legs and under its tail before angling his broom to shoot straight upwards into the air.

As soon as Harry cleared the top of the dragon's wings, he let the one hand holding onto the broom off it and gave a celebratory fist pump into the air. He closed his eyes and reveled in the congratulatory cheer of the audience. His ordeal was over and the applause was intoxicating.

While Harry continued to hover in the air, out of reach of the Horntail's flame and wings, the dragon worked on getting itself loose. The earlier stress on the metal anchor eventually proved to be too much, and with a harsh rasp, a large chunk of stone containing the other end of the bit came loose.

Dragons, contrary to expectations, aren't simple beasts. They are apex predators for a reason—their frequent rampages are but a foil for a cruel intelligence equal to that of a human. The lone wyrm in the arena was quick to remind the humans of this with a quick jerk of its neck and an accompanying howl of victory.

Fifteen kilograms of hewn stone traced a perfect parabolic arc in the sky before swatting Harry Potter out of the sky as if he were a mere insect. The impact immediately broke all of the ribs on his right side, and cracked the rest. The fall added a broken right wrist and fractured radius to that tally.

Dazed, and lying broken on the ground, Harry was barely able to make out the Horntail leisurely making its way towards him. Light flashed and lightning crackled behind it as Dumbledore and the dragon's keepers desperately tried to break the wards surrounding the arena. In moments, the Horntail loomed over him and Harry knew his life was over.

The dragon reared its head back one final time and a torrent of highly magical fire built in its jaws.

Harry expected his entire life to flash before his eyes then. The unhappy existence with the Dursleys, the rush of excitement upon opening his Hogwarts letter, the sheer awe upon seeing Hogwarts in all of its majesty for the first time—none of that came to him.

Instead, he saw a slideshow of memories—warm chocolate orbs lighting up in discovery, the sensation of two arms embracing him from behind, a frightened shriek in his ear, stone-cold, rigid fingers holding onto a scrap of crumpled parchment, shared moments of laughter and glee, quills and parchment flying through the air before end-of-term exams, and finally, a tendril of a frizzy, wild, untameable bush tickling his nose and one word continued to echo through his head.

 _Hermione._

He was numb to the pain of so many broken bones, deaf to the horrified cries of the crowd, and blind to all but the roaring inferno headed his way. Harry let regret pool in his chest for a moment, closed his eyes, and awaited his demise.

When Harry didn't feel any of the expected heat wash over him, he opened his eyes. What he found was understandably, surprising. The Horntail was toppled over, and a shimmering barrier danced before him.

He felt a stretcher come into being below him, and then he was gently levitated off the ground and to the Healer's tent. During this, he was only able to catch a few snippets of the thunderous looking Dumbledore's outrage.

"—was over. Barriers should have—"

"—too late. He almost—"

"—lucky today. I expect—next time."

The next living being he saw after the Horntail was an ashen-faced Madame Pomfrey as she rushed over to attend to him. In previous years, he had thought that a raging dragon would be preferable to the matron, but having just come from facing one, Harry saw her as a welcome sight.

"Oh, look at you. Just what were they thinking, sending a 14 year old boy to face a dragon? No compound fractures, and no internal bleeding—you got off lucky, Mr. Potter, for what it's worth."

Her constant bustling and scolding were a balm to Harry, as he laid on the bed and drank the potions when prompted. Her complaints served as both a reminder that he was alive and as a distraction from the pain shooting through his body. Madame Pomfrey eventually handed him one last potion and as he downed the last of it, felt his eyelids grow heavy.

* * *

A short while later, the potions had done their work, or at least enough of it that Harry felt he could make it back to the tower. Pomfrey was reluctant to let him go, but he shot her a pleading look, and she caved.

Each step out of the tent and to the Gryffindor dormitory was filled with purpose. He had put it off long enough. It had taken nearly dying for Harry to realize he loved Hermione and he wouldn't put it off a second longer. He ignored all the stares and whispers on the way to the tower. He'd done it for years, and they wouldn't deter him, especially not now.

At some point, Malfoy must have jeered at him, but he ignored that too; he was too busy rehearsing what he'd say when he saw her. His heart beat a staccato rhythm in his chest, a bit faster with every step he took, and he finally stood before the Fat Lady.

As the portrait door swung open, he took a breath and walked foward.

A hush fell over the room as soon as he stepped inside. Quite a few people approached him, either to express relief at his survival, or in Ron's case, to attempt an apology. As he did before, he ignored them all. He only had eyes for one person.

She was curled in the chair near the fireplace when he walked in. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face was blotchy, and her hair was more frazzled than it had ever been—clearly, she'd been crying. When she stood, her legs were shaky, and now that her arms weren't curled around herself, he saw that she had chewed through all of her nails.

Even still, she was beautiful to him.

Harry pre-emptively had his arms extended to receive the tightest Hermione hug he'd received to date. It seemed as if she were a bullet with the sheer speed she covered the distance between her chair and the portrait door.

Repeated calls of her name didn't do anything to dislodge the weepy mess latched onto him. When his shirt was fully covered with both tears and mucous, she let go of him then.

"I thought—"

Harry knew it had to be now, or he'd never muster up the courage again. Gently, he unwrapped his arms from her and took a step back. Wiping his palms on his pants and licking his suddenly dry lips, Harry Potter took the plunge.

 _"Hermione, I love you. I think I have since the time you solved Snape's puzzle in first year. You've been with me through everything I've suffered, you've sat with me through my brooding, and you've looked out for my safety, all without asking a thing of me._

 _I can't think of a moment when I haven't felt safe and comfortable with you. Even this year, you were the only one to believe that I didn't put my name in the goblet. I can't tell you how much this means to me, but I guess I'm trying now. When—when I faced that dragon out there, you were the one who hugged me, told me to come back, and gave me the courage to do that. You are the only reason I'm alive right now, Hermione. This isn't the first time that I've done something for or because of you._

 _That basilisk in second year? It hurt you, tore you away from me, and that was why I went down there. Not for Ron's sister, though that was a part of it. In third year, when we rode on Buckbeak, that was the happiest I've ever been and it's fueled my Patronus since. Nothing else even comes close._

 _For a long time, I thought that telling you would change our current relationship. I was so scared of losing your friendship, Hermione, that I couldn't tell you. The dragon today changed everything._

 _When I was sure that I would die, my only thoughts were of you, and that made me realize one thing—before I die in this tournament, I want to tell you how I honestly feel._

 _Hermione, I am utterly and madly in love with you. Would you go to Hogsmeade this weekend with me, and the next, and possibly for the rest of our lives?"_

 _A beat. "I'm not sure what to say to that, Harry. This certainly isn't what I was expecting."_

 _A pause. "I think this is the most I've ever heard you say at once."_

 _"Please, say yes Hermione."_

 _"I-I'm sorry; I can't."_

 _Despair._

 _Harry couldn't even see Hermione flee through the portrait door as his world swam in front of his eyes. Everything else seemed to escape him, including the muttering of the other people in the common room. He slowly sank to his knees, and remained there, near catatonic from the disastrous result of his confession. Nothing made sense any more._

* * *

"Harry—"

"Mate—"

Harry slowly became aware of two spots of warmth on his shoulders. Tremors wracked his body as he let out a shaky cough.

Why was he so cold?

He felt those two spots—hands, he realized, move under his armpits as they helped him up. Languidly, he rolled his head to his left and right to get a sense of who was moving him. His vision was blurry, but he could make out a blob of an unmistakable red on each side. Eventually, an impression of two, and merriment echoed in his head.

Harry felt himself slowly moved away from the entrance to the common room, and closer to the warmth of the fire, and then more movement away from the heat. He got a vague sensation of travelling upwards, and then the familiar scent of wood, linens, and light sweat washed over him.

With a couple of grunts, he was moved into his bed, which had its sheets quickly hit with a warming charm. A comforting heat surrounded him as one of the twins tucked him in, and he heard the faint rustle of cloth as his curtains were drawn shut.

Two dull impacts at the edge of the bed indicated they weren't leaving soon, and Harry desperately latched onto their presence as a source of strength. He still didn't fully understand what happened and hoped that this was some sort of nightmare that he would wake up from.

Yes, he would wake up soon to Ron's awful snoring, go down to the common room, and see Hermione again. She'd greet him with the soft smile she usually had and there wouldn't be any trace of the fear and uncertainty he saw on her face before she left. This was just another nightmare after all.

Despite this thought, sleep did not come easily to Harry this night. The only reason it came at all was the warmth of the sheets, and the two standing vigil over him. In any other situation, he might have been uncomfortable with how close they were, but he needed all the strength he could draw from them at this point in time.


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer** : [cheeky commentary may be found here]

* * *

 **Chapter 2 - Oath-sworn**

 **[Nov. 25th, Wednesday]**

The waking world granted Harry no more kindness than his unconscious mind did. He was made aware of a wetness that his face was pressed into, and the heat of the warming charm had long since faded. It was oddly quiet in a dorm that housed four other young males. Harry was loath to sit up, but had biological needs to attend to. Blearily, Harry looked about, and saw that he was alone; the others had presumably left for their classes.

There was a note on the nightstand, which Harry wasn't in a state to read at the moment and a glass of water someone had thoughtfully left for him. He shuffled to the bathroom slowly and upon looking down, saw he had not changed out of his clothes from last night.

At this point, he could no longer deny the events of yesterday, no matter how much he wished to. Hermione didn't love him. He didn't want to live in a world where the love of his life didn't return the feelings he held for her. It just didn't make sense. They'd been through so much together that this should have been a natural extension of their relationship. He thought he had seen something when she sent him off to face the task with a hug.

Was everything he had learned in his latest brush with death for nothing? What was the point of learning he loved his best friend when this was the result? He regretted even saying anything to her. Surely, it would have been better to just return and take the hug for what it was—relief at having a close friend coming back.

By this time, he noticed that he had finished with his morning routine, and had no desire to attend classes that he was already late for. He'd doubtless be assigned detention for his truancy, but he couldn't bring himself to face her, who'd be in all of his classes, save Divination.

He made the trek back to his bed and slumped into it, all energy spent. Any effort to get his mind off what had transpired the night before was for naught—his mind would only interpose the hopeful and expectant look she had before the task with her fearful countenance before she escaped.

His body wasn't in any better of a condition. He was cold. No matter how tightly he wrapped himself with the blankets, it felt as if he were naked and in the middle of a snowstorm. There was something heavy sitting in his stomach, like a quaffle had decided to take up residence inside of it.

Harry reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the glass of water. He took a gulp, to clear his throat, but didn't feel any better than he did before. After setting it back down, he cradled his head in his hands and stared, unseeing, at the floor for a while.

* * *

Her mind was a disorganized mess. Her notes, ordinarily written in a neat and tidy scrawl were littered with spots of ink and looked as if they were written by a patient suffering from the after-effects of the Cruciatus curse. Her left eye was drooping, and she was sure her face showed evidence of the sleepless night she had.

Her fingers, bleeding and raw from having chewed them even more, were shaking too much to hold the quill any longer, so she let them, and the quill, drop. She took this moment to peek through her bushy curtains to her surroundings.

Those who weren't taking subtle glances over at her immediately looked away when they felt the weight of Hermione's gaze on them. This wasn't exactly the first occurence of this either—it had continued from breakfast, when she walked into the Great Hall to eat what meagre scraps she could before classes and a hush had befallen the entire room.

It seemed as if the legendary celerity of the Hogwarts rumor mill had spread the events of the confession to every corner of the school. The students pointed and stared at her in their little groups, and as Hermione made to sit, they cleared a space by shying away from her, as one would from a leper.

As she had expected, she had no allies. The only two people she should have been able to count on weren't available—one, she had devastated and was nowhere in sight, and the other had treated her just the same as the others did.

She wished her parents were with her. It wasn't often that she did; after all, she did deal with the aftermath of the polyjuice incident as well as being petrified without contacting them, but this time, she was truly alone. With the state of affairs as they were, she couldn't even go to her closest female friend, Ginny.

She wasn't sure exactly what Ginny was feeling right now, but it couldn't be pleasant. Ginny had a crush on Harry for her entire life, since she was old enough to listen to the stories of the Boy-Who-Lived. To hear that same person confess his love for someone else and in the same breath diminish the reason you fell for him in the first place—his rescue of her in the Chamber of Secrets—must have seriously shaken her world.

Lost in her thoughts as she was, she was barely able to hear the clatter of school materials as everyone left to head to their next class. With a deep sigh, she gathered her materials, and headed out of the door. Maybe she could get a note from Mme. Pompfrey and be excused from classes for the rest of the day.

* * *

Fred and George, despite what many thought of them, were capable of forgoing their characteristic levity. They understood that a great paradigm shift had occurred yesterday, and knew that the rest of the student body had to learn to weather the tides. With this in mind, they made their way up to the fourth year students' dorms to check on Harry.

Harry made for quite the pitiful sight when they saw him. He sat at the edge of his bed, with the blankets cocooned around him, in a protective bubble. Murky jade stared straight ahead, unaware and devoid of the life that usually inhabited them. The dull sound of footsteps on the stone failed to elicit the normal response of his ears perking up and his head turning towards the source of the sound.

"We brought you something from the kitchens. Reckon you might need something to eat."

They were greeted only by silence.

"Professor Dumbledore has your Firebolt, you know. Guess you forgot to get it after the task. He thought you might want it later."

Harry didn't respond, at first. The slightest flex of the hands gripping the covers was the only indication he'd given so far that he acknowledged the twins' existence. A halting, short breath was drawn in. A tear dripped down, and a hoarse, rough voice began to sound out.

"For so long, I've only heard one thing about my parents—that they loved each other very much. Everything else, I've had to find out by myself.

No one's really told me the entire story. I didn't get the story of how they fell in love, or know if they fought at all, or get a sense of what my parents were like. All I ever hear is that I have my mother's eyes. You know the first time I found out anything about my dad was in first year? I had to find out from Hermione that he was a chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

I was so proud of myself then, that I finally had something to link me to my father besides my face. So I wanted to learn more about them and be more like them, so I could feel like I had some connection, besides the blood running through my veins, to them.

At first, besides some vague fantasies of them coming to save me from the Dursleys, I didn't really think about them all that much. I kind of hated them a little, really. The Dursleys spent so long telling me that my parents were drunk layabouts and died in a car accident that it stuck.

My first hint that they were anything else came with Hagrid as he barged through the front door of the shack that the Dursleys had moved to. That he would get so angry on their behalf gave me a clue that they weren't the horrible people the Dursleys made them out to be."

Here, Harry let out a short laugh filled with bitterness while the two other occupants of the room could have been statues with how still they stood.

"I could finally look in the mirror without hating myself. I took pride in the way I looked—a combination of James and Lily Potter. I was their son. I took pride in hearing from Snape that I was exactly like my father. I am Harry James Potter, and there is no shame in that.

With professor Lupin came the knowledge that my father became an animagus in his fifth year. An animagus—imagine that. My father hadn't yet finished his OWLs, and he had already accomplished something adults struggle with.

Wouldn't anyone want to be more connected with a father like that?"

So lost in his monologue, his venting of feelings never given voice, Harry did not hear the shuffling of feet as one of the twins shifted his weight from one foot to the other. By this time, the warmth in the soup the other twin was holding had long since fled. The comforting aroma of hearty food couldn't possibly reach someone who had retreated so deeply into his own thoughts.

".. I got my wish near the end of third year."

Fred and George started at this sudden segue from the morose Triwizard participant, but Harry, unaware of their surprise, continued on.

"I finally overcame my weakness of Dementors with the help of my father. In a time of desperation, a bright, silver stag burst out of my wand and chased over a hundred Dementors away. My father saved three lives that night, and from that night came a desire to understand him more.

What drove my father to be the way he was? How could he have it in him to befriend not only a werewolf, but also scion of an infamously dark family? How could he have taken in the man who would ultimately betray his family to the Dark Lord?

I wanted to understand the man's heart, and what better way to do that than to understand the person who occupied most of it?

Information about my mother was very scarce, or no one was willing to tell me, so I settled for the next best thing. I would understand my father by learning to love like he did. I would try and imagine how he felt in every situation involving my mother. How could he love a woman so much that he'd face Voldemort without a wand just to buy my mother a few more seconds of time?

It wasn't until just recently that I understood him."

The next part came out slowly, tenderly, delivered by a voice filled with the longing of a man deeply committed to his love, full of the fragile hope he carried in his chest.

"I love Hermione. I love her with every fiber of my being. I couldn't possibly imagine a life without her by my side. I'd have long since left the wizarding world, and magic entirely if not for her presence in my life. There are so many moments I should have died, and I didn't, either because she was there to support me, or the thought of her let me do something I shouldn't have been able to do.

But she doesn't love me—doesn't see me the way I see her. How am I supposed to continue on knowing that? I don't know if I can live in a world where Hermione Granger doesn't..."

Throughout this soliloquy, Fred and George remained silent. What could they say in the face of such overwhelming sorrow? They were just shy of seventeen years of age and had yet to suffer tragedy like the young man in front of them had.

Today the twins learned something most people require years to understand—that sometimes, love is a burden greater than the might of Olympus and that even people who seem as strong as Atlas the titan himself can break.

Having exhausted himself, Harry lay back down on the bed. The near-miss with the dragon had done what years of exposure to two caring friends and the glimpse of what a loving family could be, couldn't. The walls he had built around his heart from the years of neglect and abuse from the Dursleys had crumbled away.

All that was left was a fourteen year old boy who had been thrust into a deadly tournament, was forced to accept the limits of his own mortality, saw a chance to change the relationship with one of his closest friends for the better, and took it. Ordinarily, there would be a parental figure there to guide someone through the turmoil, but this was Harry Potter.

He had no one.

Either through circumstance or choice, no parental figure could offer this teenage boy the level of comfort, of safety that he needed. Fred and George may have been on the cusp of what constituted adulthood in magical society, but they were ultimately still young men. They simply didn't have the experience necessary to provide counsel to their young friend, who had just laid his heart bare to the two of them.

George was the first one to gather the courage to speak.

"Look, mate, we know you've been through a lot. Hell, I don't think either of us could have stomached half of what you've seen. We're not exactly blind to the rumors running around the school, you know. We know something happened with Quirrel in first year, but nothing specific. Although, I guess we don't really need to, considering what happened in our fourth year. You saved our sister, Harry. You don't know how much we owe you for that.

She was a wonder around the house growing up. She'd run around chasing all of her brothers, because she wanted to be just like us—didn't want to be left out, you know? She could roughhouse with the best of us, throw the garden gnomes farther than Ron, and always beat us to the punch when nagging Charlie to fly on his broom with him."

Fred let out a watery chuckle at that.

"Yeah. Looked like a firework streaking through the sky, she did. I reckon that's why we always called her the family firecracker. Harry, all of us were terrified when she disappeared. All of us, except you and Ron. We were scared we'd never see her again, or enjoy the time spent with her. I could see Mum preparing to grieve, to bury another family member. We couldn't believe it when you brought our Gin-Gin back to us. From then on, we knew we were in your debt, forever.

Anything you ask of me, Harry, I will grant to the best of my ability. I swear it."

George quickly cut in before Fred could continue.

"—Same goes for me. I can't speak for the rest of our family, but the twins will stand by Harry Potter."

Harry Potter sat up and for the first time, looked at Fred and George clearly. In their eyes was neither pity nor scorn. In them burned steadfast determination, eternal gratitude, and undying loyalty. Those feelings burning bright in his friends' eyes allowed Harry to take the first steps toward recovery. A seed of hope had been planted inside Harry's heart, which had known precious few moments of true, unconditional love.

The warmth that pooled in his chest allowed Harry to feel the faint stirrings of hunger, and his stomach indicated such with a tremulous gurgle. A house elf was quickly called, the soup heated to a reasonable temperature, and a new glass of water set on Harry's nightstand. A soft pop signaled the elf's departure.

Harry, as he made to eat, realized that Fred and George had been standing for the entirety of the conversation, if it could be called that, and called them to sit on the bed. They plopped down with a badly disguised groan of contentment, and Harry gingerly sipped the soup while gathering his thoughts.

Sooner than he expected, the last of the lamb and the potatoes slid down his throat and gave him the strength he needed to respond to the twins' oath. What came next was not as heavy as his previous outbursts of emotion, but no less sincere.

"Fred... George... Thank you for everything. I'm not sure what I would have done if you two weren't there for me last night and here right now. I'm not really sure who I can face as of this moment. Not Ron, and not—not Hermione for sure. I was sure I had no one to turn to, but you two came for me. If you had come and sworn yourselves to me before last night, I would have tried to refuse."

At their looks of protest, Harry clarified.

"It wouldn't be because I didn't appreciate it. I would have said it's unnecessary, since you two had already saved me earlier that year. The two of you and Ron showing up in that flying car kept me from dying of starvation that summer. To me, saving Ginny had just been repaying a debt. It was repaying the love your parents showed me while I was in their care and the friendship Ron gave me.

I accept your vows and I offer mine in return."

As Harry spoke, the light in his eyes that had previously dimmed flickered to life, and his voice grew stronger, surer. The doubt that clouded his eyes began to clear, and Fred and George saw a glimpse of the man Harry Potter would become. They were reminded that this was the boy who had faced a spectre of Voldemort at age eleven, slain a basilisk at age twelve, driven off a hundred dementors at age thirteen, and challenged a dragon in its domain the day before.

"I may be behind you by two years, and burdened by this tournament, but I promise you I will overcome it and become someone you won't be ashamed of associating with. Whatever I can offer to you, now and in the future is yours. This I swear."

Whether it was by magic itself, or by instinct, the twins found themselves clasping arms with Harry. First was George, then Fred quickly followed. There was no flash of light, no burst of magic, no strange mark appearing suddenly on their bodies. A pact had been formed today, which didn't need external approval from any foreign entity. The three would uphold it just as well.

Unsurprisingly, the twins were quick to dispel the solemnity with a quick injection of humor.

"Oh brother of mine—"

"Yes, Forge?"

"Should we worry about Harrykins here? He did kill a basilisk for our dear sister. How far will he go for us, I wonder?"

"Ah yes, Gred. That should be such a worry. How long was the basilisk again?"

"... About 20 meters."

The quiet admission caught the two would-be comedians off guard and they immediately whitened in fright. Seeing two jaws drop and two sets of eyes quickly swiveling over to his face, Harry laughed. It wasn't the deep belly laughter that he was normally capable of. It was nothing more than a light chuckle that came about from having gotten one over the twins.

Rather than taking umbrage at the fact that their comedy routine was disturbed, the inseparable pair found the humor in it and were glad that they could coax a laugh, no matter how small, out of him. They joined in on the laughter until it died out.

When the last bit of the laughter had ended, Harry pointed out something.

"Don't you two have classes that you need to be attending?"

Fred quickly shot a glance at George, who nodded and then replied.

"It's just Transfiguration. McGonagall will probably let us off if we tell her we were with you, and even give us points!"

Fred smirked and couldn't help but add in his own thoughts.

"I reckon that'd help balance out the points ol' Snapey is fond of taking from us."

Whatever Harry was about to say was interrupted with a yawn. Harry hadn't done much that day, but he had been through very emotionally exhausting events lately, and his mind needed rest. George was the one to usher Fred to leave with a small push.

"We know you don't have to attend classes, since you're a Triwizard champion. Don't be afraid to take as many days as you need, mate. We'll be here whenever we can."

Before the two left, Fred quickly shot a warming charm at the sheets, and that was the last thing Harry remembered as he laid back and quickly fell asleep.

* * *

It was many hours later that Ron returned to the dormitory. His first instinct was to look at the bed of his best friend. Harry was lightly whimpering in his sleep, but his sheets didn't look too disturbed and weren't as wet as they were this morning. As he saw Harry in the throes of what was undoubtedly a nightmare, Ron reflected over his day.

Having not been directly in the center of the incident, Ron wasn't too adversely affected. The rumors, the whispers, and the stares were centered around Harry and Hermione. A flash of irritation threatened to boil over into a petty anger.

'Ignored again.' He thought. Once more he had been overlooked. He had spent his entire life being overshadowed by his brothers. Bill was the Head Boy and now a curse breaker. Charlie had been star seeker for the Gryffindor quidditch team and now wrestled dragons on a daily basis. Percy was the most politically active in the family, and had entered the Ministry after graduating from Hogwarts.

Even Fred and George, the troublemakers in the family were constantly compared to Fabian and Gideon Prewett, Molly's brothers and two competent wizards in their own right. Ron could have lived with being overshadowed by his brothers if not for the final addition to the immediate Weasley family—Ginny.

Ginny was the darling of the family, born after six brothers and while it may have seemed childish to a third party, Ron felt as if she was stealing the attention that was supposed to be his. Ron had never felt like he had the opportunity to be his own man. This was cemented by the fact that up until the end of his second year, the wand he held in his hand, a reflection of the wizard's self, wasn't truly his own.

The events of third year had a significant impact on Ron. Finding out that he had shared the bed with a fat, bald, ugly man for nigh three years horrified him. He had shared intimate moments with Pettigrew. On nights he couldn't sleep, he often voiced his thoughts aloud in the fervent hope that they would come true. He had changed his clothes in front of him.

A summer spent in the company of his family had helped him overcome some of that trauma, but then they were back at Hogwarts. They were back at the place where he had learned the stomach-turning truth.

The Triwizard tournament had helped to take his mind off matters. Finally, he had an opportunity to make everyone see him as who he was, Ronald Bilius Weasley, not just the son of Arthur. Finding out that only those of age could enter was disheartening, but learning that Harry had no intention to enter mollified him a little. The failure of Fred and George to enter served as reinforcement that those who were not qualified could not participate in the tournament.

After all, if Fred and George, two of the most brilliant pranksters couldn't circumvent Dumbledore's protections, who else had a chance? Thus, it was quite a shock to Ron when Harry's name came out of the goblet, more so than it was to others. Old feelings of jealousy and self-doubt had reared up inside of him and he had lashed out at his best friend.

The hostilities had continued and didn't seem as if they would end. Then came the disaster called the First Task. Seeing his friend nearly die and not being able to do anything about it sparked a wave of regret in Ron. If Harry had died then, his last words to him would have been only filled with anger. So he resolved to properly apologize to his friend for being a git.

He never got the opportunity. As soon as Harry walked into the common room, he made straight for Hermione and confessed his heart's feelings. After that, Fred and George put Harry to bed and forbade anyone else from approaching him. He didn't think anything he said would have made it through to Harry anyway. He looked closer to death after Hermione's rejection than he did after the dragon mauled him.

The next morning, Ron had woken and Harry was still asleep. Ron didn't have the luxury of being excused from classes, so he hurriedly got ready for the day and headed to breakfast. This was where the rumor mill quickly spread the relevant happenings of the day before. By the time the food had vanished, everyone knew at least one version of what had happened. Par for the course, Ron was not mentioned once, even in passing.

After breakfast were classes, and Ron realized that Hermione would be in every one of them. He had been too absorbed in his food and himself to really notice her during mealtime. He, along with others, snuck a glance at her now.

If anything, she looked even worse than she did yesterday. Hair normally described as bushy looked as if a flock of birds had made it their home. Dark crescents resided under her eyes, and she looked like she was struggling to stay awake. Her shoulders were in an uncharacteristic slouch, unable to bare the weight of all the stares.

Ron was never the best at comforting people, especially Hermione. Harry usually took care of that, and after the events of last night, even Ron was aware that Harry wouldn't suddenly come down and make Hermione feel better. Ron had thus kept his distance the entire day.

He realized he had been staring at Harry for a while, and moved to his bed to sit. Alone for now, Ron had the opportunity to think—really think. He looked deep inside of himself, and was ashamed. How could he have let this silly feud go on for so long? Where was the friend who had sacrificed himself as a chess piece in first year, gone into the Forbidden Forest despite his arachnophobia, and stepped in front of a presumed mass murderer on a broken leg—all for his best friend?

Ronald Weasley had made a poor showing of a friend and as he reflected on his mistakes, he realized something. It had awoken in him during Harry's confession, but Ron realized he also fancied Hermione. Going over his hang-ups and failures made Ron evaluate his relationship with his other best friend and something finally made sense in his head.

At the same time, he realized he wasn't worthy of her—not like Harry was. A true friend would have at least made an effort to comfort Hermione today, not ignored her. A true friend wouldn't have constantly belittled her or mock her hobbies or interests. Bitter jealousy warred with this newfound wisdom, and the better feelings won out in the end.

He gave up on pursuing Hermione, and he wouldn't hold it against Harry for loving her. He couldn't really be mad at Harry. It was hard to hold a grudge against someone who was so clearly suffering. Ron Weasley went to sleep at peace with himself.


End file.
